


Service With A Smile

by Hambone



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Fisting, Humiliation, M/M, Sticky Sex, Voyeurism, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 21:12:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another day, another dollar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Service With A Smile

**Author's Note:**

> This was born from a bizarre hankering I had during finals last year.

He wanted to protest more, but the nausea welling up deep in his fuel tanks kept him mostly silent. Mostly.

“Wh-wh-what…”

His vision swam as he struggled online, probably related to the dent in the upper right ventilation slat on his helm. Everything was a whirl of light and dark, painful bursts of noise and color sending bolts of discomfort through his frame. His legs felt like they had been poured solid with lead. The warbling static that surrounded him focused to a single source, somewhere to his left, and he lolled his head towards it in an attempt to get a stronger grasp of the situation. 

“Ahh, Agent Blurr!” Swindle turned away from the monitor console with a toothy grin.

“Glad to see you’ve rejoined the land of the living!”

Blurr didn’t need perfect vision to make out the abnormally sized optics, slanted halfway with a self-satisfied serenity. He jerked away from them and then instantly regretted it as pain lanced up his side. Right, the crash. He hadn’t expected to be fired upon out in the badlands, not from the ground. It was a stupid flaw, a potentially fatal one, and now he was paying for it. 

Swindle was suddenly much closer. He ran a dull hand up the side of Blurr’s damaged shoulder guard, carefully avoiding all the puckered seams and chipped dimples. It was an unpleasantly familiar gesture, and Blurr tried to shudder away from it, but the greater of his two discomforts won out and he remained steeled and still.   

“Oh, don’t worry, you have nothing to fear from _me_ ,” Swindle sang, “I’m practically _giving you away_ thanks to your being damaged goods and all. Trust me; banging you up more is not worth the cost.” The servos on his shoulder meandered around near his smashed headlight, circling lazily like insects. Someone to the right snorted, amused, their vocalizer clogged with fuzz. Blurr jolted just a bit. He had assumed they were alone. 

  “Not my fault you slagged the job. I’d expect the same from you anyhow.” Daring a glance towards the voice, Blurr tried to blink the pixels out of his visual feed. 

“I wasn’t aiming at him. He was just an added bonus!” If Swindle had been offended, he didn’t show it, smiling dangerously at the monitor and the mech on the other side. Ah. That explained the vocal distortion. Blurr’s processor felt sluggish and glitched in little, stinging throbs every few seconds. He recognized the person Swindle was talking to. 

Lockdown smiled back through the screen. 

“And a sweet bonus he is.” 

Swindle’s hand slid down to his chest. He hummed agreeably, and when Blurr looked back up at him he was tilting his helm, slow and thoughtful. 

“I-won’t-tell-you-anything-anything-anything.” Blurr said. His vocalizer glitched at the end and he spat sparks. Swindle laughed at him and Blurr clenched his fists, surprised to find them under his body, hooked together behind his back. Stasis cuffs, at half power.

He tried to sit up anyways and failed, a stiff jolt running up his spinal struts. Whether he was restrained by the cuffs or merely by his own injuries, he was unsure, but he now became aware that his legs, which had felt so heavy, were indeed captive, held apart by bulky cuffs that looped through the space in his tires and bolted to the table sides at the end of a thin leash. Even knowing this he tried to kick at Swindle, displeased when it only elicited another sharp laugh. 

“The only thing I want out of you is cash, Agent.” He turned those glossy bulbs back to the monitor briefly. “And you can bet I’m getting it.”  

  “They’re-going-to-come-for-me,” said Blurr, not meaning anyone in particular, “They’re-going-to-come-and-when-they-find-me-I-swear-there-won’t-be-a-corner-of-the-Universe-you-can-hide-in-you-fithly-spawn-of-the-Pit!”

Swindle’s optics darkened a shade. 

“That’s quite a mouth you’ve got on you, Autobot.”

Lockdown was also amused, a thick, gritty chuckled barely escaping the static of the communication line. 

“We expect they’ll come, Agent. In fact, we’re plannin’ on it. But not before I make my pickup, and probably not before I hand you over to one of the hundreds of ‘Cons out there lookin’ for a little Elite Snitch like you, and I get my paycheck.” He winked. “No one’s gonna find you in time.”

Blurr shifted a little, feeling the pull of the chains on his legs. They were too heavy. In the state he was in now, Blurr knew it was highly unlikely he could escape using sheer force. Strapped to a table, his speed wasn’t worth much, but he was also aware that Lockdown’s words were more bark than bite. It was true that, provided he made no attempt to flee, nobody would find him before the bounty hunter’s arrival, but the fact that he was still loitering around his video comm. talking to Swindle implied he was at least a few kliks out. He had time to figure this out. He always had time. 

Thick servos, hollow-feeling, like poorly fitted gloves, traced across the glass covering his spark chamber. Blurr turned back to Swindle with a snap that set the cogs in his neck aching. Swindle’s dental grill glittered in the low light, reflections of Lockdown in his eyes as he bore down. He tapped the surface in a quick rhythm, sandy glass shavings skittering onto the table. 

“Until then, I suggest we kill a little time.” He bent at stiff angle over Blurr and somehow made it look natural, an oversized fist curling loosely at his hip as he dragged across divets in the damaged plating. 

“What?” said Lockdown. Swindle didn’t respond, humming a little as Blurr bared his teeth ferally. Abruptly his other hand found purchase on Blurr’s waist, rougher than expected. The surprise jarred a flutter of internal mechanisms, as if his insides were trying to leap away from the touch, but Blurr did not visibly flinch. 

Instead he said, “You’re-wanted-on-seven-hundred-and-eighty-six-accounts-of-varied-murder-larson-and-double-dealing-you-know-I-find-it-highly-likely-I’ll-see-you-put-in-sensory-deprivation-for-the-rest-of-your-miserable-sparklife.” 

Unimpressed, Swindle squeezed his thinly meshed side tighter. 

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I tend to take care of me and mine.” 

The hand on his spark chamber trailed down, past its counterpart and across the black stripes of Blurr’s belly. When it reached the fork of his thighs, there was no hesitation. Swindle cupped the smooth curve of his panels, sleek and almost seamless, with warm confidence. Struggling to keep his head up, Blurr watched with a stoic expression. He would not be scared into submission so easily. After all, that was what Swindle was trying to pull, wasn’t it. A fear tactic. 

Lockdown was less sure. 

“Swindle,” he growled, the jovial tone he had earlier dropping away from his voice slowly, leery of the necessity of his caution. 

“Relax!” Swindle laughed, to both of them. “I’m not going to mess him up.”

He placed his words carefully, as if speaking to someone who wasn’t fully able to comprehend their complexity. Blurr was expecting it, but Lockdown exhaled loud, frustrated air.

Leaning closer still, Swindle didn’t bother to catch the perturbed expression of his business partner in favor of getting a closer view of Blurr’s scuffed paint. He palmed the closed panel heavily. 

“You wanna open for me? Hmm?” 

Disgusting. 

“You’re-filthy!” Blurr snapped. He fully expected some sort of retaliation but all Swindle did was continue smiling and pull away, hands and all. Lockdown was glued to the screen, watching as Swindle slid open his subspace compartment and began rooting around. 

“I don’t believe this.” He sounded more exasperated than angry, almost as if he too was surprised by Swindle’s vileness. 

“You’re free to hang up anytime you want. I’ll still be here when you arrive.” Swindle spoke absently, apparently finding whatever it was he needed and pulling it out with a small, satisfied smirk. 

It was, at the most basic level of observation, a small cylinder spouting, at the end, six thin prongs. Despite his visions continuing fritz (perhaps he had scratched his optic deeper than first assumed), Blurr could read a serial number along the side, _DDD-6487_. It meant nothing to him, but the intent was obviously malicious and that was all that mattered now. 

He squirmed against the table, but Swindle merely wrapped his free hand around a thin thigh and pulled him back. The cylinder came closer to his leg and Blurr pushed on his heels as hard as he could. Then Swindle drew back his hand and, with a short, sharp jerk, drove the prongs through his plating and into a bundle of circuitry on the soft interior of his thigh. 

The world shorted white for a moment, and then all Blurr could see was the flickering lights above as he convulsed back, electronic pulses spreading up from his pelvic span shocking him rigid. Everything below his chest plating felt as if it didn’t exist, had never existed, numb as it was. 

It stopped almost as quickly as it had started, aftershocks sending his thighs into little fits of twitches, and it was instantly apparent that he has lost control of his lower paneling. His upper panel had completely slid back, along with the secondary one that concealed his valve, but his spike cover, for whatever reason, had jammed halfway, scarcely allowing for a thin crack of light to penetrate the housing and illuminate the tip of his depressurized equipment. 

Swindle didn’t seem to mind. 

“There’s a good boy,” he purred, discarding the cylinder on the table beside them. Blurr sent repeated commands below, trying desperately to cover himself, but the lingering charge interfered with the signals, and his fans turned on in an attempt to vent the excess heat.  

Wasting no time, Swindle rubbed a thumb down the slit of his valve. It moved along with ease, and Blurr realized that he was already sickeningly wet. It wasn’t his fault; the charge which had loosened him had assisted, and the buildup of kinetic energies with nowhere to go had too, preparing him for the friction his systems deemed inevitable. 

He tried to pull his thighs together, but the leashes held fast, leaving him tense and taught but still spread like an exotic dish.

“Sleek, sexy,” said Swindle, and pressed his thumb past the outer folds and into the wet heat of Blurr’s valve, “and possibly imported? I recognize a piece of Velocitronian engineering when I see it.” His digit met no resistance, which pleased him greatly, squeezing down one of the outermost sensory nodes and making Blurr tense. 

“Stop!” He yelped, far less intimidating than intended. Moving to the side, Swindle removed his hand from Blurr’s thigh and buried his free thumb along with its twin. He pulled them apart, spreading him shallowly. After a second of observation, he whistled a high note appreciatively. 

“Pretty. You’ve got some high quality goods here!”

Blurr tried to lunge forward, again unsuccessful. His cuffs were, as he had suspected, bolted down behind him, allowing him to rise no more than he could support on his bent limbs. Swindle’s thumbs caressed in and out of his valve, sliding easily over the rim and admiring the gentle bleed of the black exterior to the softer baby blue inside. Out of the corner of his vision, Blurr vaguely noticed Lockdown leaning in to see better, apparently not as repulsed as he had originally implied. The stimulation sent his confused systems a bolt of heat straight to his interface equipment, producing a small rush of lubricant that drizzled easily onto the table. 

“Get-your-servos-off-me-you-two-bit-criminal-you-glitch-you-nnnnnNNN!” Swindle cut him off, removing his thumbs in favor of the first two servos on his right hand. Giving no time for adjustment, Swindle thrust them roughly, the effort almost pointless as Blurr’s drenched interior spread wide and wet for him. 

“Please,” said Swindle, “I’ve never seen a mech get hot so quickly.” Through the monitor, Lockdown grunted in agreement, thoroughly engrossed. Blurr thrashed away from the intrusion, but wasn’t able to do more than flop weakly against the table.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Swindle’s speed, ever increasing, matched the pace of Blurr’s fitful twisting. 

“Especially for this,” he indicated Blurr’s yet unsheathed spike, still trembling behind its cracked cover, unsure whether it wanted to close itself away or pressurize, by circling his unoccupied hand beneath it without missing a beat. The touch went deep; his valve ached. 

“Is it true, what they say?” Swindle curled his servos inside Blurr and they caught on a node, deeper than he was able to reach himself, long left without stimulation. He hissed, kicking his legs, and spat at Swindle.

“That racers are too quick to spike properly?” As he spoke, another finger wormed its way inside. The three fanned, stretching him, and Blurr could not hold back the thin whine that tore from his vocalizer, ragged and cornered. 

“Must be a real pain, not being able to satisfy a mech.” Swindle’s thrusting fingers slowed, awfully, lubricant running down his wrist hot and fast. 

“But I bet it can be kinda fun too. Bet you can have so many overloads per session, hm? All that racer stamina, all pent up in one tiny valve. We can make a game of it!” 

“Don’t-touch-me-don’t-touch-me-I’ll-you-“

“How many times can we make you overload before my associate arrives?”

“Fuck.” 

The last word was from Lockdown himself, foreign and meaningless to Blurr, but the sentiment was as clear as the heated whir of his fans burning through the comm. line. It seemed to trigger a reaction in Swindle, or perhaps it was just an unlucky coincidence; either way, he was suddenly, horribly energized, pounding the unencompassed portions of his hand so hard against his outer lips that Blurr felt hairline energon tubing burst beneath the rubbery cyberflesh blooming a darker color. 

His venting hitched and he curled in as best he could, overloading with surprising force. An extra surge of fluids spilled out around Swindle’s eager servos with an undignified splash.   

“Oh, that was nice!” Swindle did not remove his fingers, no longer thrusting as the spasms around them subsided, but stirring lightly. 

“But I think we can do better though, don’t you?” 

Blurr’s struts regained their solid form with surprising speed. He remained hunkered over, pulling his bonds taught, optics on the bed beside him. 

“Sh-shove-it-up-your-tailpipe.” 

This seemed to please Swindle. 

“You really are a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah,” breathed Lockdown, “damn.” 

Swindle’s pinky swirled in the lubricants below Blurr’s bruised valve. 

“I suppose I can indulge you, this once.”

The pinky slid in. 

It was so much. Blurr shuddered, aftereffects of the first overload leaving him oversensitised. There was so much inside him, Swindle’s servos were so big, and he hadn’t been touched this way in such a long time. It burned. 

When Swindle’s thumb began to penetrate him as well, he flung himself out of his lame curl, panic replacing the anger at an alarming rate. 

“Wait-don’t-do-that-what-are-you-doing-what-are-you-doing!”  Primus! It has been painful before, and now was almost unbearably so. And Swindle kept pressing, and instead of resisting or, as it felt like it might, splitting at the seams, his valve continued accepting until the bulbous width of his wrist gaurd was straining against him as well. 

“Stop-stop-stop-stop-stop-stop-stop-stop-stop-stop-stop-!” Blurr shrieked, and the calipers in his valve shrieked too, trying to accommodate the unprecedented width, and he overloaded again, hard. Lubricant bubbled out around Swindle’s wrist. 

This time there was no moment of peace. Swindle kept pressing forward, servos inside wriggling like a spider, trying to crawl deeper. Blurr spasmed as he did when the charge first ran through him, condensation streaming down the sides of his armor plating and adding to the mess on the table. Each centimeter Swindle progressed earned another wild thrash, and when he wriggled his fingers Blurr’s babbling devolved into a wail. 

“What a welcoming valve!” Swindle proclaimed, hooking his servos down and making Blurr arch painfully, back lifting up off the discomfort of his cuffed wrists. Against the metal mesh he could see his own hand (or what little of it he could squeeze in), a thick protrusion beneath thin black and blue plating and protoform. Blurr’s valve was white around his girth, its max capacity reached and somehow exceeded. 

“You’ve _got_ to try this out before you hand him over.” The nonchalance of the statement, followed by Lockdown’s husky affirmation made Blurr burn with shame. Swindle gleefully flexed inside him and he sobbed, vents stuttering with the intensity of the feeling. Another well timed wriggle and Blurr’s mechanical musculature was crushing against his palm again, Blurr bowing his head back as his optics burned bright and his vocalizer shorted his scream into cuts of staticy noise. 

 “No-more-oh-Primus-please-please-please-no-no-more-please!”

 Swindle cooed, a mockery of affection, “come on, Agent Blurr, one more for me?” Lockdown snorted a laugh through his grunting. 

“No-no-nononononononononono!” He shook and cried again as Swindle balled his servos into a fist inside him, catching a sensory node painfully between his knuckles.

“One little overload, just one more, and it’ll all be over.” Blurr’s helm swayed from side to side, optics resolutely offline, as he gasped and slid in his own fluids. The nodes in his valve were swollen from the excess attention, and Swindle could feel their raised ridges all around him. 

He rolled the one he had caught between his fingers and Blurr howled, bucking into him frantically. 

“That’s it, that’s right.” Swindle pushed his fist in and out a few times, just barely, but it was enough. Blurr screeched, smoke rising out of his seams as every part of him seized up, taught as a bowstring. A violent spray of lubricant worked its way around Swindle’s wrist, and he collapsed, quivering with the force of his heaving ventilation system. 

Swindle let him lie like that for a moment, admiring the swell of his fist inside the agent’s gut, before, finally, pulling out. Another rush of fluids, though nowhere near as explosive as its predecessor, escaped the gaping confines of Blurr’s valve, used and abused. Blurr keened weakly at that, but didn’t move, weighed down by his grief and pain. The wounds on his side, forgotten in the thick of things, had reopened as he squirmed and now trickled almost as steadily as his interface equipment. 

“You’re not gonna leave him like that, are you?” Lockdown was looking, despite himself, rather sated. He leaned on the console in front of him, idly scratching his back with his hook. Swindle scoffed, never once losing his smile as he wiped a bit of the mess on his right hand off on Blurr’s heaving stomach.

“I’ll be there in about ten minutes. Kliks. Whatever.”

“Hey now,” Swindle’s voice was as crisp as ever, “cleanup wasn’t part of the job.” 

Lockdown looked like he was about to object, but he held his tongue as Swindle slipped two of his dirtied servos into his mouth, sucking them clean with a thick pop. 

“Besides, you really _should_ try this.”

 

 


End file.
